Lyrics Self Portrait - Keaton Henson

The sun brings up yesterday's evils
And drags them back into the sky
I have not long enough arms, my love
To reach for the curtains of life
The days have a thing for believers
As the night has it hands in your eyes
And it may not just be tomorrow
It may be the rest of your life
And here is a song for the lonely
And a prayer whispered into the night
For a withered cunt, with a broken love
And a thorn wedged in his side
Food for the worms
Blood for the trees to grow
Muscle and bone, arrogant soul
Song for the birds covered in apathy
Carving goodbye in the back of your throne
This is the fight
Losing my sanity, losing my mind
Find it my home
I don't blame me, I'm growing old
You limp through the small conversations
From the weight your back foot has to bear
As you empty your guts to the alley
And sweep up the yesterday prayers
These days, I'm a sucker for tenses
I write in the third person now
And the days I'm not swinging for fences
I'm singing for ways to get out
And here is a song for the empty
And a prayer uttered into the ground
For the broken king, with his arm in a sling
And his hands holding on to his crown
Food for the worms
Blood for the trees to grow
Muscle and bone, arrogant soul
Song for the birds covered in apathy
Carving goodbye in the back of your throne
This is the fight
Losing my sanity, losing my mind
Find it my home
I don't blame me, I'm growing old
I'm growing old